


Riding the Tiger

by Seraphtrevs



Series: Only You [3]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Seduction, also a god, both metaphorical and literal games, but he's got a tender side too, fully consensual this time but still pretty fucked up, lalo is a big cat, lalo is a sociopath, nacho is fun to torture, they may be catching feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Nacho was used to getting fucked by the Salamancas, so this thing with Lalo was just more of the same. A fucking of a different sort. The same old shit, different methods.Except he’d never enjoyed being fucked by a Salamanca until Lalo came along...Nacho's back in the tiger's den. Can he escape? More importantly - does he want to?
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: Only You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658944
Comments: 20
Kudos: 96





	Riding the Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Next story will be Lalo's POV, I promise. He's itching to take over, so I better make that happen soon if I know what's good for me.

_He who rides the tiger can never dismount_. – Chinese proverb

Nacho was used to getting fucked by the Salamancas.

Things had been terrible with them from the start, but drug dealing was bad business. Nacho wasn’t stupid—a life of crime was a life of trouble. But there was a difference between being in trouble and being fucked, which he learned when Tuco blew off Dog’s head while Nacho was standing behind him. Blood, brains, and bone fragments splattered over him, drenching his shirt, covering his face—it even got in his mouth and eyes, blinding him. As he stood there, dripping in gore and wiping the blood out of his eyes while Tuco screamed in triumph, Nacho had an epiphany so pure and so clear that it was as if God himself whispered it in his ear:

_You’re fucked. You are completely, hopelessly fucked._

A piece of the poor guy’s skull was forever imbedded in his chest now. He used to try to pick it out, but gave up after a while. It was nothing compared to his new wounds.

After that, his life was a series of fuckings by the Salamancas. So this thing with Lalo was just more of the same, really. A fucking of a different sort.

That’s what he told himself as he lay in bed, with one of his girls in his arms. The same old shit, different methods. Except he’d never enjoyed being fucked by a Salamanca until now.

His and Lalo's first time together, he could write off. He hadn’t enjoyed it, exactly—survival instinct took over and his body reacted accordingly. But the second time—Nacho had initiated it, hadn’t he? Sure, it was to stave off Lalo coming onto him first, a ploy to regain at least some control of the situation. But what followed had been the most intense sexual experience of his life. Fear and desire had swirled together, become indistinguishable, setting every nerve on fire—

Afterward, Lalo took him home, fed him, sucked him off again, and then tucked him tenderly into bed. Nacho woke up to whistling in the kitchen, the smell of chilaquiles wafting through the house. They ate, and then they went to work, dealing drugs and busting heads. Domesticity in hell.

Nacho had gone back home that night to his girls, who, while glad enough to see him, expressed little curiosity as to where he had been. Or maybe they hadn’t even realized he was gone. He liked having them around, but they were more like house cats than human company, lounging on the sofa, playing with toys, occasionally cuddling up to him for a pet. Sweet, harmless, like nothing else in his life.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he needed the danger. That would certainly explain the direction his life had taken.

***

Tuesday, El Michoacáno. The dealers came in, one by one, to settle their accounts. Domingo took the money. Nacho counted it. Lalo wasn’t there. In fact, Nacho hadn’t seen him for a week; he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. But then, in the late afternoon, Lalo burst in, all smiles and friendly chatter. It unnerved the dealers. Poor Domingo always looked like he was going to shit himself. Hector was an evil bastard, but there was something reassuring about how you always knew what to expect. You could prepare. There was no preparing when it came to Lalo.

Lalo barely acknowledged Nacho, instead focusing on Domingo, asking him how business was, even slinging an arm around his shoulder at one point. He chatted with the owner of the restaurant, exchanging cooking tips. He spared not so much as a glance in Nacho’s direction.

Was this a new game? Was Lalo trying to, what, make him jealous? Or maybe Nacho was reading into things, and Lalo had simply lost interest. He should be relieved, but instead felt a pang of rejection.

Lalo settled into his usual chair, propping up his feet and reading a newspaper. Nacho ignored him right back, focusing on the money. But then he happened to catch a glimpse of Lalo out of the corner of his eye, and all doubts about Lalo’s interest disappeared. His gaze burned hot on his skin for a scorching moment, and then was gone again as Lalo returned to the paper, whistling innocently.

More games. Nacho’s move. _Think._

Nacho pretended to inspect a bill, resting a hand on his thigh. He moved his hand up slowly, and then down again. Up, and down, in slow circles, getting closer to his crotch with every caress. Thoughts of Lalo played in his mind—kneeling in front of him, lips wrapped around his cock. He licked his lips and sighed.

The newspaper rustled. He had an audience.

He worked his hand up again, briefly squeezing his hardening dick. Domingo couldn’t see him, but the dealer at the table facing him gave him a funny look. Nacho didn’t give a shit. He tipped his head back and rubbed his neck, before trailing the hand back down—

A few flutters and the paper was set aside. Lalo jumped to his feet, moving not for Nacho, but for Domingo.

“That should be the last for today, yes?” he asked briskly. “All caught up?”

Domingo looked back to Nacho. “I think we’re still waiting on Pete, aren’t we?”

Lalo cut in before Nacho could answer. “Why should we wait for Pete? He should be on time. We’ll have a chat with him next week, I think, about being punctual. We’re done.” His voice brokered no argument. 

Domingo shot Nacho a questioning look, but had enough sense not to argue. As Nacho packed away the money, Lalo spoke with the owner—or rather, he dismissed him. “Nacho has a set of keys, yeah? We’ll lock up. Go home early, surprise your wife. Life is no fun without surprises.”

In short order, they were gone. It was still the afternoon, not even close to dinner. Nacho made to get up, but Lalo pointed a finger at him. “I forbid you to move. You stay right where you are.”

Nacho obeyed. Lalo drew the blinds, turned the sign in the window from open to closed, locked the front door—Nacho had an idea where this was headed. “Here?” he asked. “Now? Really?”

Lalo smirked. “So now you’re shy? After that show you put on?”

Nacho folded his arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lalo roared with laughter, and then crouched low to the ground. He prowled over to Nacho on his hands and knees—if it were someone else, it might seem submissive or degrading. Nacho knew better. He was on the hunt.

He kneeled between Nacho’s legs and ran his hands over his thighs, scraping his fingernails along the denim. He was really going to do this—blow him in the middle of the restaurant in broad daylight. “I want you to think of this every time you sit here, counting cash,” Lalo breathed. “My mouth on your cock. Do you think you’ll be able to keep count?”

Nacho stifled a moan. “What if someone comes in?”

Lalo grinned. “Does that excite you?”

It terrified him—he wasn’t sure that was the same thing. “It seriously doesn’t worry you?”

“Why would it worry me?” Lalo nuzzled his thigh. “You think, perhaps, my fierce reputation would suffer if I was caught with my lips around you?”

Blood rushed to his cock. “Something like that.”

Lalo held his open mouth over Nacho’s still-covered dick, his hot breath wetting the fabric, and then abruptly pulled back. “Do you know what power is?”  
  
Nacho clenched his teeth. There were better things Lalo could be doing with his mouth than spinning riddles, but he couldn’t say that. “Getting people to do what you want them to?” he guessed.

“Part of it, maybe. But that’s a small thing—any brute can force his way.” He gave his legs another caress, stopping just short of his dick. “Guess again.”

Nacho shuddered—it was getting harder to think. “Money?”

“A means to power, but not power itself, no.” Lalo gestured to the door with his thumb. “Let’s say that I forgot to lock the door, and that mouse Domingo scurried in. And he sees me here, my mouth wrapped around your gorgeous cock. Do you think he would believe his own eyes, or would he wait for me to tell him what he’s seeing?”

He had a point.

Lalo undid Nacho’s fly and pulled out his cock. He lapped up the bead of moisture that had gathered at the tip. Nacho’s toes curled. “And that’s power,” he concluded. “The ability to dictate reality. A power only gods enjoy.”

Nacho almost laughed. “Is that what you are? A god?”

“But of course.” He licked along his length, teasing.

Nacho’s eyes fluttered shut. “Does that make me your sacrifice?”

Lalo’s laughter was a low rumble. “Something like that.” His head descended, taking Nacho in to the root.

Nacho groaned and slumped in the chair as Lalo worked his cock, his hot mouth engulfing him again and again. Just when he was about to come, Lalo pulled off. Nacho’s eyes shot open.

“On second thought, maybe you’re right,” Lalo said lightly. “It’s too risky.”

He’d kill him. For this, for so many other things.

“I have an errand to run, but come over later.” Lalo pressed his mouth to his ear. “Don’t touch yourself before then. I’ll know if you do. And wear that red shirt of yours.” Lalo patted him on the cheek, almost hard enough to be a slap. “Adios, amorcito.”

It was difficult to tuck his aching cock back into his pants. When he got into his car, he considered beating off, but didn’t. Instead, he drove home, annoyed at himself for doing as he was told. It was bad luck to disobey the orders of a god, he thought bitterly. He was so fucked.

***

The girls were both passed out when he got home. Just as well—he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He had no clue what shirt Lalo was talking about—he had a lot of red shirts. He picked one out at random and set it out for later. Lalo would probably want him to shower before he came over.

After his shower, he took a nap, which turned out to be a mistake. He dreamed of Lalo, dressed as an Aztec god, with a giant feather headdress and a jaguar’s pelt stretched over his glistening chest. Nacho was splayed out before him, arms and legs tied taut. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t break free. Lalo’s mouth opened, revealing sharp teeth. He descended. Nacho woke up with a gasp, dripping in sweat, his heart beating so hard it nearly pounded out of his chest.

He was _extremely_ fucked.

***

A note on Lalo’s front door beckoned Nacho in. Nacho entered cautiously, although he already knew what lie in store. Or at least he thought he did.

Music and marijuana drifted in the air, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Nacho followed it. He found Lalo, dressed in a bright blue apron, whisking something in a bowl as he sang along to a corrido. A lit joint lay propped up on an ashtray on the counter.

“Nacho!” he cried when he caught sight of him. He wiped his hands on his apron and embraced him, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the back. It felt like he was being welcomed to a dinner party instead of a summons to a dick sucking.

Lalo moved his hand to the small of Nacho’s back, urging him forward. “Come in, come in! I am making a marinade—you must taste it for me.” He picked up the joint and took a toke, and then passed it to Nacho.

Nacho hesitated. Had he spiked it with something else? But it smelled normal, and Lalo seemed more relaxed than high. And God knew he could use some relaxation. He took a puff. Lalo hummed in approval as he set the joint back on the ashtray.

“Now we’re having fun. Here—” He picked up the bowl and dipped a spoon into the liquid. “Taste.”

Nacho obediently opened his mouth and let Lalo slip the spoon between his lips.

“Well?” he demanded. “What do you think?”

“It’s good.” It was true. Lalo was a genuinely talented chef.

Lalo slapped his back again. “I know it. Come, sit down. Beer?”

Nacho took a seat at the bar. The weed buzzed through his body, taking the edge off his anxiety. “You trying to get me drunk?”

Lalo laughed and shook his head. “No, no.” He pointed a finger at him. “In fact, I forbid you to get drunk.” He pulled a beer out of the fridge and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” Nacho said. The cool glass felt good in his hand. He fought the urge to press it up against his face. He was hot all of a sudden.

Lalo returned to his mixing, adding in another splash of something or other. He took up singing again. Like his cooking, his voice was good—rich and warm. He’d be a catch if he wasn’t a sociopathic drug kingpin. Nacho had to stifle a giggle.

“You will die when you taste my carne asada,” he said. “Special family recipe.”

He wondered if that was really true. “Who cooks in your family?”

“My abuelita. I was always in the kitchen, pestering her. She put me to work to get me out of her way. Don’t tell Tuco, but I’m her favorite.” He winked.

It was surprisingly easy to imagine Lalo as a kid, full of mischief. What kind of mischief probably didn’t bear thinking about.

“But you don’t talk to Tuco much anymore, do you?” Lalo continued.

Nacho took a sip of his beer. “He’s in prison.”

“You could still visit, or at least call.”

Nacho shrugged. “Not much to talk about.”

“What, you aren’t interested in his boasts and paranoid ravings?”

Nacho said nothing as he took another drink of beer. It didn’t seem like a good idea to badmouth one Salamanca to another, even when invited to.

“It’s amazing you were partners for so long. It takes a very special kind of person to manage Tuco.” Lalo began slicing the meat. “Tio Hector likes you, too. You have a special way with Salamancas. We are not easy to please, you know.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he said before he could stop himself. Maybe the weed was a bad idea.

But Lalo laughed. He finished cutting the meat and put it in the marinade, then covered it and put it in the fridge. He took off his apron and washed his hands before approaching Nacho again, a sultry look in his eyes. The dinner party vibe had vanished. He ran his finger over Nacho’ shirt. “Wrong shirt,” he said. “But this one is nice, too. You have good taste.”

“Thanks,” Nacho mumbled.

Lalo ran a hand over his shoulder. Foreplay was over, it seemed. Just when Nacho thought he was going to kiss him, he pulled away. He went to the fridge and got himself a beer. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Nacho took a big swig before following Lalo into the living room. Lalo gestured proudly to his television. A Playstation had been hooked up to it.

Nacho blinked. He hadn’t known what to expect--definitely not this. “You want to play video games?”

“Why not?” Lalo put down his beer on the coffee table and picked up a game case—Grand Theft Auto III. “I couldn’t resist. I’m dying to know what it’s like to be a violent criminal.”

Nacho had to laugh. “Yeah, sure.” Lalo rolled another joint and lit it. He took the joint from Lalo and took a long pull before handing it back. Playing video games with Lalo Salamanca. Why the fuck not. It’s not like things could get weirder.

They sat side by side on the sofa. Lalo gave him the controller, but kept instructing him on what to do. It was irritating. Nacho finally held out the controller. “Why don’t you play?”

“Because I like to watch you,” he said. “And I’m not so good with these new games. Not like the old arcade. Did you play as a kid?”

“Sometimes. My dad kept me busy, though.” Shit. He hadn’t meant to mention his dad.

“With his shop?”

Nacho nodded curtly, hoping the subject would drop.

“I bet you were a good boy.”

Nacho looked down at his hands. Maybe once. Not anymore.

He wondered if Lalo was going to push it, but he didn’t. “We can change the game, if you’re bored.” He picked up another case—Tekken 4. A fighting game.

Lalo switched out the games and picked up a controller. They selected their fighters. Nacho picked one at random. Lalo picked a girl. He was bouncing in his seat, like a kid. “Prepare to have your ass kicked!”

Nacho studied him. When he and the other dealers had played poker the other night, Lalo had made Domingo fold, as a show of submission. Was that what he wanted here?

No, he decided. This whole evening—the dinner party vibe, the music, the weed, video games—Lalo wasn’t trying to dominate him like he had that first night, or at the race track. Lalo was trying to—what, befriend him? Date him? Whatever he was doing, he didn’t want subservience.

Nacho beat him in every round. It wasn’t even close. Nacho didn’t exactly have a lot of time to sit around playing video games, but Lalo played like he hadn’t touched an arcade game since the ‘80s. He’d bought the Playstation specifically for Nacho, maybe? Did he imagine them hanging out like friends?

At last, Lalo threw his controller aside. “I give up,” he said, but he was laughing. “I’m no good at this.”

Nacho took another toke of the joint—it was nearly gone now. He felt pleasantly numb.

Lalo’s expression shifted, became softer. “I have something for you.”

Nacho put his own controller aside. “Yeah?”

Lalo picked up a bag sitting beside the sofa. He handed it to Nacho. Nacho looked inside, and his heart stopped. Condoms and lube.

He looked up and met Lalo’s gaze. There was heat in his eyes, but he wasn’t leering.

Lalo nudged him with his knee. “Hey. You can say no.”

Nacho put a hand over his mouth while he thought. Did he mean that? Or was this some sort of test of his obedience? He picked up a condom. “This for you or for me?”

Lalo took the condom and the lube. He ran the jagged edge of the wrapper along Nacho’s shoulder. “Me. I may suck cock, but Salamancas don’t get fucked.”

No, that was Nacho’s department. He almost laughed, but he didn’t think Lalo would appreciate the joke. His heartbeat thundered so loudly he could barely think.

Lalo caressed his thigh and leaned in to kiss him behind the ear. “It will be good for you, I promise.”

Nacho hesitated for another moment. What would happen if he said no? Could he risk it? Did he even want to? He took a shaky breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Lalo surged forward with a pleased growled, capturing Nacho’s lips with his own. Nacho kissed back, almost by instinct. Now that he’d made his choice, he didn’t want to think anymore.

After a few heated kisses, Lalo stood and took Nacho by the hand, leading him upstairs. His mind flashed back to the first time this had happened. When Lalo sent him upstairs to undress and shower, Nacho had been bewildered. At first, he thought maybe Lalo meant to humiliate him. Then he thought maybe he was going to kill him. It was only when he was naked in his kitchen that he realized his true intentions. It was so surreal that it still felt like some strange dream.

It didn’t feel any less strange now, although this time, he knew the way.

Lalo didn’t waste time. As soon as they were in the bedroom, he threw the condom and lube on the bed and pulled Nacho into an embrace, running his hands down his back as he kissed him. Nacho tried to keep up. Being kissed by a man was different than kissing a girl. Did women feel this way when kissed by men? Helpless? Overwhelmed? Nacho could probably take Lalo in a fight, all things being equal. But things weren’t equal. They never were. He had no choice.

Or maybe that’s just what he told himself so he wouldn’t have to think about how hard his cock was, and how good Lalo’s body felt against his. He put a hand on Lalo’s face as they kissed, the stubble scratching against his palm.

Lalo made a pleased sound into his mouth. He pulled back and started unbuttoning Nacho’s shirt. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “I couldn’t wait to get you in my bed again.” He made quick work of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to the floor, and then pulling off his undershirt.

He made a move for his fly, but Nacho batted him away. He didn’t want to be the only one naked. Lalo purred as Nacho fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. At last he got it off, and they were both shirtless. Nacho panted as he ran his hand over the heart-shaped patch of hair in the middle of his chest. His finger brushed a nipple.

Lalo growled and pushed Nacho backward onto the bed. He crawled on top of him and kissed him—no, not kissed. That sounded too gentle. He devoured him.

A few maneuvers and Nacho’s pants and underwear joined his shirt on the floor. Lalo’s clothes followed, and then they were naked together. Lalo put his arms around him, pulling him close until their bodies were flush against each other. Their cocks rubbed together, sending shocks of pleasure through his body.

Their kisses grew fiercer, until Lalo pulled away from his mouth to pepper kisses down his body, until he reached his cock. He swallowed him down eagerly—he really did love sucking dick. And like with his cooking and singing and everything else, he was good at it.

Lalo brought him to the brink of orgasm before he let Nacho’s wet cock slip from his lips. He kissed his mouth again, tender now, and then picked up the lube. “On your knees, or your back?”

A bolt of equal parts fear and desire struck him, leaving him breathless. How to answer a question like that? He shook his head, unable to form words.

“No answer?” Lalo kissed him again. “Your knees, I think,” he decided. He patted him on the flank. “Come on—turn over.”

Nacho complied, his whole body shaking. Nacho rested his head in his folded arms on the bed, his ass in the air. He nearly jumped when Lalo put his hands on his back.

“Shhh,” Lalo said. “You need to relax, amorcito.” He ran his hands up and down his body in firm, smooth strokes. He kept at it until Nacho’s shaking subsided. When he had calmed, Lalo took ahold of his dick. Nacho’s erection had faded, but it jumped back to life as Lalo stroked it.

“That’s it,” Lalo murmured. “Let me make you feel good.” He lay a kiss on his ass, and then another, and then—

Nacho’s eyes shot open as Lalo spread him open. Was he really going to—? A tongue lapped at him, pressing against his asshole. He stifled a yelp. It was weird at first, but as he relaxed into it, pleasure pulsed through him, growing more and more intense. Never in his life had he thought he’d want this. It felt so good he nearly wept.

He let out of moan of loss when Lalo stopped. A wet finger took the place of his tongue. “Okay?” he asked.

Nacho nodded and braced himself. But Lalo didn’t push in right away. He circled his hole, applying gentle pressure. It was only when Nacho relaxed further that Lalo pressed inside.

Nacho tensed. It hurt a little. Lalo kept up the small circles, working him open. By the time he moved a second finger in, the hurt had faded. It was still uncomfortable, but Nacho had been shot in the gut—he could handle a couple of fingers in his ass.

And more. He shivered at the thought of what was coming.

The fingers left him. A crinkle of a wrapper being opened. And then Lalo was kneeling behind him. The blunt head of his cock pressed against him—definitely bigger than fingers.

“You ready?”

 _No. Yes._ Nacho wished he would just do it. He’d already made his choice—he didn’t want to be asked to make it again.

Lalo pressed forward. It took a moment for his cock to breach him. Nacho flinched when the head slipped inside.

“Bear down,” Lalo murmured. “It will be easier.”

Nacho obeyed. He was right—it did get easier. Slowly, slowly, Lalo worked his way in, until at last he was buried inside him to the root. Nacho was shaking again, but so was Lalo. “Has anyone else been inside you?”

Like he didn’t know the answer. “No,” Nacho sighed. “Only you.”

Lalo growled and pulled back, then pushed in again, still agonizingly slow. All discomfort faded away. Lalo seemed to sense it, because he switched angles, as if searching for something. Suddenly, pleasure burst inside him, surging through his ass and cock, so powerful that he cried out.

Lalo, the bastard, laughed and did it again, and again. “That’s it. You like being fucked?”

Nacho could only moan in reply. He’d forgotten how to speak.

The same fate had not befallen Lalo, unsurprisingly. “You feel so good. I knew you would. I’ve dreamed of you, what you would feel like around me. Have you dreamed of me? Hmm?”

When Nacho didn’t answer, he stopped. “I asked you a question, Nachito,” he teased.

 _Asshole_. “Yes,” he managed to gasp. And it was true.

He was rewarded with a thrust. Lalo picked up the pace and took Nacho’s cock in hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The sensations engulfed him, overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he forgot who he was and became just a body, thrumming with pleasure.

Lalo’s thrusts became faster, harder. Nacho pushed himself to his hands and met his thrusts, searching for his release and finding it at last, screaming as his cock pulsed out bursts of come.

Lalo wasn’t far after him, pushing into him with one final thrust. His hips made short little thrusts as he came, sending aftershocks of pleasure through Nacho.

They collapsed together on the bed. Lalo rolled them over on their sides, his cock still inside. Time passed—Nacho couldn’t be sure how long. His whole body thrummed in the afterglow.

Lalo snaked an arm around him and lay a kiss on the nape of his neck. “You are something special, Ignacio.”

Horribly, tears pricked his eyes. It was too much, all this tenderness. This wasn’t what he expected at all.

At last, Lalo pulled out of him. He left him alone in the bed as he went to the bathroom. A moment later and he was back with a warm washcloth, which he ran between Nacho’s legs. It felt good.

“Not too sore, I hope?” Lalo murmured.

Nacho shook his head—he didn’t think he could speak yet.

Lalo chuckled and patted him. “You rest. I’ll make dinner.”

Nacho couldn’t protest. He couldn’t do anything at all. Somehow, in spite of all the violence of his life, this is what defeated him—being made love to. Was that Lalo’s intentions all along? A ploy to gain his total submission?

Or did Lalo just want him, the way any person might want another? Impossible to tell. He wanted to cry, but fortunately, he lacked the energy.

With one last kiss, Lalo left. The music downstairs still played, and Lalo’s voice joined in, crooning softly as the meat hit the pan and sizzled. Nacho drifted. The vision of Lalo as a god returned, his ferocity appeased as he licked his bloody fingers. Nacho’s hands and legs were no longer tied. They didn’t have to be. His heart had been eaten out.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Who are you rooting for--Nacho or Lalo? What's going on in Lalo's head? Are they catching feelings? All that and more in the next story. Working title - The Green-Eyed Monster.


End file.
